I KNOW not if He come at eve, 

Or night, or morn, or noon; 

I know the breeze of twilight gray, 

That fans the cheek of dying day, 

Doth ever whisper -Soon!

I know not why our souls should doubt

His promise to appear, 

When every flower's opening eye 

Looks up into the changing sky,

And seems to murmur -Near!

I know not round his blessed feet

What peerless glories throng; 

I only know from rending tomb 

The good shall burst, in beauty's bloom; 

And faith assures -Not long!

I know not if his chariot wheels

Yet near or distant are; 

I only know each thunder-roll 

Doth wake an echo in my soul 

That saith, -Not very far!

I know not if we long must wait

The summer of his smile; 

I only know that hope doth sweep 

With thrilling touch my heart-strings deep,

And sings -A little while!

I know not on this glorious theme

Why lips so oft are dumb; 

I only know the saddened earth 

Will flush with beauty and with mirth

At sound of " -Lo, I come!"